


Kenn's prompt

by Cockbite (personalized_radio)



Category: Class of 198x (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Guns, contains SPOILERS MAN, post-season, post-season 2 honestly, sam shoots someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/Cockbite
Summary: The thing about adventures is that they change people.





	Kenn's prompt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenn/gifts).



> [kenn](allrighthello.tumblr.com) gave me a prompt and i promptly (;D) FUCKED IT ALL UP IM SORRY KENN BUT THIS IS A GIFT FOR U ILU <3
> 
>  
> 
> basically in my head i decided that season 2 is going to be a classic dnd game and they all just fuckin class up and get to learn magic if they want so sam was/is a bard (or a gunslinger, if we're bringin' in that sweet sweet pathfinder), amanda was/is a sorceress, hannah was/is a barbarian, and mike was/is a fighter. i hope u like it.
> 
> you can find me [on Tumblr](https://cockbite.tumblr.com/)! i post fake/gta!au :)

The thing about adventures is that they change people.

 

-

 

“You want me to come over now?” She asked, voice bored, but she was holding back a smile and she could hear him laugh on the other line. It was odd, having telephones again. She missed having him just a bedroll away.

  
“God damn it, _yes_ , Amanda, how many times do I have to say it?”

 

“Just one more.” She prompted and, with a dramatic sigh, he gave in.

 

“Amanda, come over. My dad’s gone for the weekend to some business man convention and ma’s goin’ on some sorta artist retreat.”

 

“Hmm,” She pretended to think about it, “Yeah, okay, I’ll stop by for a bit.”

 

“What a - shit, what’s the word? A fuckin’ sacrificial lamb.”

 

“A martyr?” Amanda offered and was rewarded with a sound of confirmation.

 

“That’s it. What a martyr.”

 

“Okay, Mister Scholar, I’ll see you in fifteen. Meet me at the light, like usual?”  
  


“I’ll be there.” Sam said, but it didn’t sound like he was done talking so she stayed on the line, her heart fluttering, “I, uh,”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Love you, ‘manda,” He said, all fast and strung together like he’d thrown them up instead of said them, and then the line went dead and she was too busy laughing at him to be upset she hadn’t been able to say it back. Over a year, and he still acted like the high school junior they’d started out as.

 

She packed a weekend bag; dumped her school supplies out from earlier and opened her closet up to look around. She grabbed her bikini, on the off chance they wanted to spend a little time in his pool and bask in chlorinated water, a blue dress for tomorrow and her pink tights and a blouse for Sunday, and then packed a small make-up kit and her hair curler just because she could, now. She slung the bag over her shoulders and, before she left, she stopped in front of her mirror and looked herself. Skin smooth and blemish, scar, free. She missed them.

 

When she was done staring at where the skin used to be marred, she tightened the straps of her bag up so it was snug against her back and less likely to make a sound while she was sneaking out and then left her room slowly, tiptoeing into the hallway and listening intently for her dad.

 

She heard snoring from the living room, a sign that her dad’s nightly ritual of coming home from work, eating, and passing out in front of the television until about midnight was in effect, and didn’t bother to tiptoe on her way down the stairs and out of the front door. Nothing was going to wake him up.

 

She locked the door with the spare key, put it back under the fake rock hidden in the flower pot and, with a final look over her shoulder to make sure none of her old, nosy neighbors were staring at her through their window blinds, headed off for Sam’s.

 

Her mansion was in the nicest part of town, the opposite end to Mike’s, but Sam and Hannah were both middle class families and she was a lot closer to them. Hannah lived about twenty minutes from her, on the east side, but Sam was only ten minutes at a brisk walk and he always met her at the light at the beginning of his street so they could walk the last five minutes together. It felt weird to not be with all three of them near constantly after so long together. Honestly, it was almost anxiety-inducing, to not have them watching her back. Sometimes she forgot that she didn’t _need_ to watch her back here, even after the months they’d been living this life again.

 

It was cool, a January breeze nearly lifting her skirt before she physically pushed it back down, and she kept one eye on the road but she also found herself looking up at the sky, gazing up at the few stars that the light pollution didn’t take away. Stars were different in every world, but they were always there - some closer, some farther, some so bright they were blinding and some barely a glimmer in the pitch darkness of sky. She loved her bed, it had been one of the many things she’d missed on their adventures, but she had to admit that she missed stars nearly as much now that she had her bed back.

 

She heard the talking before she’d even turned the corner onto Sam’s street, but she knew something was wrong the moment it had come into sight. Sam wasn’t waiting for her on said corner. She hadn’t been going particularly fast, he should have been waiting.

 

“Listen,” And that was Sam’s voice, sounding irritated, “I don’t owe you money. If anyone owes you money, it’s Steve - but _we_ are clear.”

 

“Look,” a new voice said, “Steve says you’re good for it, so you’re good for it. Give us the money, Beans, or someone is gonna get hurt.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Sam demanded, and Amanda turned the corner in time to see him puff up like a rooster, “Don’t fucking threaten me. I’m not giving you shit, now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops.”

 

“What, you’re a nark now?” the stranger - out of high school, at least, and kind of dirty looking - loomed over Sam, at least half a foot taller, “I got a lot to say to the cops if they show up too, kid,”

 

“Sam,” Amanda called out, pulling her mace from the side pocket of her bag - she’d taken to carrying it around with her now that they were back. She preferred her wand, but it would be...weird, to go about casting now that they were back home. Mace worked wonders for grabbing up some Jeffries when she needed to, though, or taking care of  trash like this.

 

“Who’s this slug?”

 

“Don’t worry about it, he was just leaving,” Sam glared, offering his hand to Amanda. She took it, letting him pull her closer to his side, both of them glaring at the stranger, a united front.

 

“Hess?” The stranger raised an eyebrow, “You’re with _Hess_?”

 

“Do I know you, loser?” she raised an eyebrow back, looking him up and down with disgust.

 

“Maybe you don’t know me, but I know all about you,” He smirked and she felt a shiver go up her spine, sneering at him and turning back to Sam.

 

“Let’s go. Steve can sort his own shit out, we’re not a part of it.”

 

Sam nodded in agreement, slow and not breaking eye contact with the stranger - who, now that Amanda got a better look at him, could have possibly been one of the tennis players she’d seen with Steve during freshman year. That may have been only two years ago, now, but it was….so long ago for Amanda, she couldn’t honestly be sure. Even if Sam _had_ at some point owed this guy something, it had been far too long for something as petty as drug money owed to some low life drop-out to stick in Sam’s memory when there was so much more for him to remember.

 

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” He said, and they turned to leave.

 

“Yo!” The stranger snapped, losing the smug voice for an angry one, “You’re _gonna_ pay up, Beans, or Hess here is gonna have another hole to show to every guy at school,”

 

Amanda turned back around to snap something back and, with quiet surprise, came face to blade with a knife.

 

-

 

The thing about adventures is that they change people. And their adventure had changed them.

 

Hannah had been...so angry; angry at the injustice of the world (and all of the worlds, it turned out); angry at her body and how such weak flesh could hold her spirit back so easily; angry at them for never taking the road more traveled when it was the safest way; angry at fate, or whatever had dragged them through the places they’d been. She’d even been angry when they’d returned and, as if by magic, they’d never been gone at all and she’d lost every ounce of physical strength she’d worked so hard to gain over the years. But she’d learned to control it by then, to pick her battles. Her anger had been tempered by wisdom, far beyond the years of any fifteen year old.

 

Mike was more sure of himself now, not any louder than before, aside from the war cries he occasionally let out in his sleep, but he held himself with his shoulders back, eyes forward. He was used to claymores more than box cutters now; words didn’t cut him like they used to, not after facing real wounds brought by spells. Mike had fought spiders, lizards, trolls and the elements, held Hannah while she died in his arms and cried to a god to bring her back, lost two fingers and had gone half blind before they’d returned and he’d been given his youth back. He was a warrior, now.

 

As for Amanda, herself, she’d gone into it a shallow, scared girl and come out...more than just a woman. She’d killed, seen her friends die, learned _magic_ , brought her friends _back_ , fallen in love, nearly died, herself...She was more serious, now, maybe. Still herself, but her priorities - what was important to her, what she would _kill_ for, they were all...different now. Her friends, above everything else, the things that made her feel human a close second, and anything else after. She was more aware of herself, of the people around her, of what was important and worth dying for. Of what she would destroy, and had destroyed, worlds for.

 

And Sam...Sam had changed a lot, possibly more than any of them. He was harder now; not with them, not with _her_ , but with strangers and the outside world. He was sharper, jagged in a way that he just hadn’t been when they’d originally left. He still dealt after they returned, mostly for money that he and Mike were putting away to get a place to move into together because Amanda had been cut off when her dad realized she’d been planning to move into an apartment with two men, but he was less genuinely friendly. His jokes were darker, he was always ready for a fight, though his laugh was the same and he still tried to lighten any atmosphere with dances. Mike had been their tank, but Sam had been their last defense on more than one occasion when Amanda had been separated from the party and Hannah and Mike had been hurt. When they’d come home, a lot of what had changed in Sam couldn’t be healed. He was _always_ ready and his weapon of choice...Well. Sam was a gunslinger, after all.

 

-

 

Amanda turned back around to snap something back and, with quiet surprise, came face to blade with a knife.

 

“Give me the money,” The stranger said and Amanda instinctively reached for her wand but it _wasn’t there_ and she didn’t know what to do because Mike wasn’t here, Hannah wasn’t here, where were they, they’d been separated, the _party had been separated_ , Sam -

 

“Put it down,” Sam said, “Or I’ll fucking shoot you right here.”

 

Sam had a gun.

 

She hadn’t seen him pull it but, honestly, she didn’t doubt that it had been drawn the moment the stranger had pulled the knife; a revolver that Mike had acquired for him through some less than legal means that Sam always had on hand.

 

“You?” The stranger scoffed, “ _Samuel Beans_? Shoot someone? Your hands are shaking!”

 

She glanced over and, surprised, realized that he was right. Sam’s hand was shaking. His eyes were wide. Oh, fuck.

 

“Don’t,” She snapped at the stranger and he took a step toward her, the knife threatening, coming _too close_ and Sam pulled the trigger with no hesitation.

 

His hand may have been shaking, and his aim was off, but Sam’s mind knew how to use that gun, even if his body didn’t yet, and the bullet bit into the stranger’s skull between one blink and the next.

 

Amanda didn’t see it, though, because the gun had gone off right by her and she’d crouched down and covered her ringing ears protectively the moment she’d registered the sound. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was the first time it had happened since they’d returned and her ears weren’t used to it, were still functioning at crystal clear levels, as they’d been at the start of it all. Her brain hadn’t come to ignore the sound of gunfire as if it were just a heartbeat, proof that Sam was alive and fighting.

 

It _hurt_ , in a way her body had stopped being numb to and, not for the first time, she regretted ever coming back to this world.

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Sam dropped next to her, the gun clattering away, “Amanda? Amanda, are you okay? Did I hit you?”

 

She shook her head, slow, “No, no, fuck, just...loud.”

 

He cupped her face anyway, checked the side of her head for injury and, only after he’d confirmed that she was unharmed, did he drop his hands - shaking - and look at the body next to them, blood slowly pooling around his head, “Amanda, I-”

 

“Run,” She stood up, collecting the gun and dragging him up with her, and then took off. He followed, staggering at first before he finally caught on enough to match her steps. They left his street behind, headed back toward her house and then taking a sharp left into a park. They’d cut through and go to Mike’s, no one would think to look for them there - if anyone was looking for them. It had been on his street, he was missing - any competent police officer could maybe put the pieces together, but this piece of shit town didn’t have competent police officers.

 

“Amanda, what did I do?” He asked when they’d finally stopped for a quick break in a thicket of trees, hidden from view of anyone outside of the small area that the trees surrounded, “Oh, fuck, what did I do -”

 

“Sam, calm down,” She shoved the gun in her bag and then cupped his face, forced him to look at her, “You were protecting us. He had a knife, you did what you thought you had to.”

 

“I killed him, oh _fuck_ , I killed him,”

 

“You did,” She admitted, “But, Sam, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

 

“I’ve never killed a human before,” He gasped out, tears beginning to form, “‘manda, I never killed a man before,”

 

“No,” She agreed, “But men can be monsters, too, Sam, you _know_ that.”

 

“What am I gonna do? We can’t just fuckin’ hop through a dimension door this time! We’re finally home!”

 

“Says who?” Amanda snapped back, “Sam, I hate this place! I miss my scars and, shit, my stars! We could, we could leave, right now. Just let me go to my dad’s house and get my wand and we could get the fuck out of here in no time! Hell, _you_ could get us out right now!”

 

“My magic doesn’t work here,” He shook his head, “We’ve tried, ‘manda, you know that.”

 

“I think it doesn’t work,” She pressed their foreheads together, “Because you don’t want it to. You wanted to come home, but...but is this _home_ anymore, Sam? Because it isn’t for me.”

 

“Let’s...Let’s talk about this later, okay?” He closed his eyes, “Amanda, _fuck_ , we just...left him there. On my street. They’re going to know it was me - Steve sent him to me!”

 

“I’ll be your cover,” She said immediately, “You and me, we were together all night, you got it? Until we decide if we’re staying or not, you tell them you were with me. It’s kinda true, isn’t it?”

 

“I didn't...even see him as a person, 'manda…” Sam looked at his hands, staring with wide eyes, “I just...he was a threat and I shot him.”

 

“He was threatening me with a knife,” Amanda said sharply, “What, you think his life was worth more than mine?”

 

“Never,” Sam shook his head, “No, never, I don't regret it, Amanda, I just…”

 

“It's hard,” she hesitated, her voice softening, “But it's us or them. That's how it is now. How it's ever gonna be.”

 

“Y-yeah…” Sam nodded slowly, “I...you're right.”

 

“I love you.” She kissed him, slow and gentle, “You're a good man, Sam Beans. Better than I deserve, and you prove that to me every day. Now. Get your head together, okay? We’re going to Mike’s, we’re calling Hannah. You’ve been together _all night_ at Mike’s, we snuck out hours ago. Right?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said again, a little dazed, but he leaned down to kiss her back, his hands coming up to hold her waist so gently - and that was why she wasn’t scared. He would never hurt her, he looked terrified to even touch her even though he’d seen her cleave a goblin in two. “‘Manda...is this how my dad feels? You know, it kinda faded while we were away, how much it hurts. Worse than any sword or spell. You think he looks at me and just sees a threat?”

 

“I dunno, baby,” She said, frowning and stroking his face lightly, her fingers running across where familiar scars and healing wounds used to be. She missed her scars, what they meant, both good and bad - taking a sword for Hannah but also when she’d tried to run away from a battle and leave the others behind, rescuing a baby owlbear but also being attacked by a boar she tried to kill, sacrificing her skin for new experiences that felt unreal without them - but she didn’t know if he missed his. “But I know that he’s only alive right now because of your mercy. And that makes you a better person than he or I, that’s for sure. It takes a brave heart to be merciful, or whatever, right?”

 

He smiled a little, barely twitching his lips up, but it earned him another kiss, “Thanks.”

 

“Now come on, Cool Beans,” She fixed his hair and then striped her top off and dug around in her bag for the dress she’d tossed to the bottom, “Help me get this blood off, we gotta make it to Mike’s and tell him what happened.”

 

She’d been closer to the splatter, got the blow-back on her, so she let him use her nice shirt to wipe it off her face and neck and then changed into her dress and shoved her clothes into her bag on top of the gun, packing it down and then standing still so he could tie her hair up, the bloody strands lost in the clean blonde around it.

 

When she was dressed up properly, she let him button up the dress in the pack, “Unzip your jacket, Sam, just tie it around your waist.”

 

Sam usually would have been the first to think of that, they’d had to hide a few murders in their time abroad, but she couldn’t blame him for taking a little bit to come to terms with shooting the stranger. Sam hadn’t killed humans, but she had. Between she and Mike, their body count was...well. There were worse people, but she doubted that they had a higher count than them. The first had stuck with her a long time, but she’d killed to protect her family and she would do it again - in any world. But Sam had always been more thoughtful than her, more willing to think about things and what they meant on a like...philosophical level. What killing another human made him, when he’d tried so hard to never cross that line.

 

He did as she told him, though, and wrapped the jacket around his waist, tying it off tightly and then offering a hand. He’d lost his fingerless gloves nearly two years ago to a deal with a goblin horde in exchange for free passage and he’d been pissed about it for weeks until Hannah had sold some spare jewel and got him a new pair of gloves. He’d modified the fingers himself and he’d loved them. Now, he just had his old ones - cracked leather she was pretty sure he’d taken from his dad’s store.

 

She took his hand and squeezed, feeling reassured and ready to face whatever happened. Mike and Hannah, they leaned more her way, she was pretty sure. Mike had never had a home to go back to after his dad died, and Hannah had slowly begun to realize that the rose-tinted world she and Sam had been trying so hard to get them back to since they left wasn’t nearly as perfect as her memories had built it up to be - on top of the fact that fighting the injustices here involved a lot less battle and a lot more peaceful protesting than she was used to now.

 

But that was a discussion for a different time. Sam had just lost the final thread of innocence he’d had left, had protected for so long. Tonight, she would protect him from whoever tried to get to him - police, Steve, some greasy drop-out who wanted money, while he mourned. The gun was not a heavy burden the bear in her bag, and she pressed a kiss to his hand as they walked through the park together, not for her. It was a burden she would gladly bear for him.

 


End file.
